Snidjer stayed well back, swinging the sword as he urged a fresh wave of attackers to the fray. ‘Gerremall, Flitchaye. Grabbem, holdem – I cut’m up wid dis sworder!’
Durry Quill went down, felled by a heavy blow. Dandin and Mariel stood shoulder to shoulder, swinging their knotted ropes. Tarquin lay on his back, pounding the oak with his hindpaws while he lashed out at the enemy with his front paws, joining voice with his companions:
‘We are creatures of Redwall! We are creatures of Redwaaaaalll!’
They were struggling against the odds, more so when Snidjer gathered a fresh batch of Flitchaye about him and headed the charge at his weakened opponents.
‘D’cleverbeasts fallin’ now. Gerrem, Flitchaye!’
Mariel and Dandin went down beneath the masses of weed clad bodies, still shouting as they were submerged beneath the Flitchaye mob:
‘We are creatures of Redwaaaalll!’
Thick white fog enveloped both sea and shore as if the very clouds had dropped out of the sky. Sound was muted and nowhere was there vision or sight for more than a paw’s length. Rawnblade Widestripe chuckled grimly to himself as he donned the long spiked helmet he always wore with his battle armour. Salamandastron was deserted; he had sent out all his hares to patrol on one pretext or another, some to the south, others to the east. The great badger Lord pulled down the helmet visor, focusing happily through the twin slits. Rawnblade’s eyes should have been tired, but they were not. He had lain awake most of the night, listening to the muffled silence fog brought in its wake, restless, turning. Rawnblade had finally left his beloved mountain to stroll on the tideline along the shore by Salamandastron.
That was when he had heard it.
The sickening crunch of ship’s timbers upon rock was unmistakable.
The searat Captain Orgeye was below sleeping when he was thrown forcibly from his bunk on to the cabin floor, shouts from the Waveblade’s two lookouts brought him scrambling up on deck.
‘Belay, we’ve run aground in this cursed fog!’
‘Hell’s teeth! She’s run bow on to a reef!’
Rawnblade had strained his ears to catch the shouts from the Waveblade.
‘Cap’n Orgeye, what’ll we do?’
‘Bilgescum! You’ve been sleepin’ on watch. If she breaks her keel on these blasted rocks, I’ll rip out yer livers. Get over the side on to the reef an’ see how she looks. Move yerselves!’
‘Cap’n, she’s nose-up on the stones, holed near the waterline an’ trapped tighter than meat between yer teeth. What do we do?’
‘What can we do, slophead? There’s naught for it but to wait till this fog clears. May’aps we can beach her for repairs then.’
Rawnblade expanded his massive chest, letting out a great sigh of pure joy at the memory of his night stroll. It was not often the big badger got a shipload of searats delivered to his doorstep. That was why he had sent his hares away. The Lord of Salamandastron wanted this one all to himself. Picking up his formidable broadsword, he swung it easily across his shoulders and strode silently back to the tideline. Standing with waves lapping his studded leg greaves, Rawnblade Widestripe resembled a great carved statue set at the edge of the sea. Fog swirled about his armoured body as he listened to the sounds of the cursing searats, who were waiting for the fog to lift.
So was Rawnblade.
He remembered the dead bodies of his three hares swaying in the shallows of the tideline, the work of searats. A huge ramble of satisfaction welled up in his throat as he anticipated loosing his wrathful battlesword upon Orgeye and the Waveblade’s crew.
Colonel Clary notched an arrow to his bow, and the other two members of the long patrol followed his example. The fog had thinned to a milky river mist in the creek where the Darkqueen lay crippled. Clary’s ears stood straight up as he listened to the noise of the Darkqueen’s crew. They were crashing heedlessly through bush and shrub, careless and noisy, as they made their way back to the ship.
Ringtail was first to spot the Darkqueen’s masts amid the forest greenery. He dashed forward with the light mist swirling about him.
‘Ahoy, mates. There she lies. The Darkqueen!’
Even as the rest of the crew dashed forward, they saw Ringtail fall with a gurgle, an arrow through his neck.
‘Down! Get down. The ship’s been boarded!’ roared Bigfang.
The searats obeyed, dropping down instantly behind trees and bushes.
Ranzo lay alongside Bigfang, pale with fright. ‘Ringtail’s been done for. Who killed him?’
Bigfang peered through the mist-shrouded trees. ‘I don’t know, mate, but I’ll soon find out. ’Ere, bring up them oarslaves.’
Brigadier Thyme raised himself from the heeling deck to obtain a better shot at the foebeast. He groaned aloud and sat down again.
‘Oh, dash it, look what they’re up to now!’
Clary and Hon Rosie stood up in dismay. Bigfang was approaching with the rest of the searats, and they were using Pakatugg and the wretched oarslaves as a shield in front of them. They stood in a bunch at the woodland fringe on the creek bank.
Hon Rosie relaxed her bowstring. ‘Golly gosh, I say, that sort of thing’s not on, you know. Hey there you bunch of mouldy old cowards. Come out an’ fight, beast to beast.’
Bigfang prodded Pakatugg with his cutlass. ‘Mouldy ol’ cowards is better than foolish dead heroes, rabbit. Now what d’ye say we parley a bit eh?’
Clary twitched his whiskers firmly. ‘We don’t parley with the likes of you, bottlenose.’
‘Bottlenose yerself, rabbit!’ Bigfang snatched a spear from Kybo and hurled it. The spear landed with a quivering thud, pinning Clary’s paw to the Darkqueen’s side. Immediately, Rosie and Thyme took a chance; shooting slightly upwards, they sent their arrows over the tops of the oarslaves’ heads, wounding Frink and slaying a searat named Reekhide.
The searats broke and ran for the cover of the bushes, dragging the oarslaves with them. Hon Rosie acted swiftly. Tugging the spear free, she pulled Clary into the scuppers.
‘Knew they couldn’t kill you, you old piewalloper. Are you hurt?’
Clary gritted his teeth, trying hard with one paw to staunch the flow of blood from the other. ‘Ahem! That feller’s not very good at givin’ a manicure with a spear, though I think he meant it to be a haircut.’
Rosie could see by the tight-drawn expression on Gary’s face that he was suffering greatly. She searched her pack for bandages.
‘Not to worry, you’ll soon be right as rain again, old lad.’
Thyme put aside his bow and arrows now the confrontation was over. ‘Well, chaps, it looks like we’re stuck aboard this tub until Clary’s able to use the old paw again, wot?’
Out of sight and earshot of the hares, Bigfang was having trouble with his new command. Kybo had elected himself spokesrat for the rest, and he and Bigfang argued fiercely.
‘We should’ve charged them when I flung that spear!’
‘Huh, an’ get caught in the water by those two with the bows – not me matey. Did you see the Darkqueen? They’ve crippled ’er.’
‘I could get her seaworthy an’ sailin’ again.’
‘You! All you’ve done so far, Bigfang, is to get Frink wounded an’ Reekhide killed. It was foolish chuckin’ that spear. We should’ve got closer to ’em, then we could’ve done some real damage.’
‘Oh aye, an’ what would you have done, scumbags?’
Kybo flung himself on Bigfang. They rolled over and over, grunting and kicking at each other. Bigfang was gaining the upper paw when he tripped and became tangled with the oarslaves. Kybo quickly sat on his adversary’s chest. Pulling out a wicked skinning knife, he pressed the blade across Bigfang’s throat. The former leader lay still, knowing that Kybo had won.
Kybo retained his position, breathing heavily. ‘Now you listen to me, addlebrain. I’m speakin’ fer all of us, see! The Darkqueen’s scuppered – oars, rudder an’ steerin’ wheel gone, didn’t y’see – an’ they’ve heeled her over
. She’ll sit on the bottom of that creek like a stone in mud. I’m takin’ this crew back to Greypatch; that Abbey is the only place where we’ll have it safe an’ easy. He was right. Now you can come peaceable or die here. What’s it t’ be?’
Bigfang swallowed, feeling the blade scrape his throat. ‘You win.’
Mother Mellus crept up on Bagg and Runn the otter twins, who were hanging perilously over the north ramparts. She seized each one by an ear and pulled them down as they squeaked piteously.
‘Now then, you two young fiends, what are you up to out here, eh?’
‘Owow, leggo! We were keeping guard, that’s all!’
‘Eeeek, me ear! Somebeast’s got to watch out for searats.’
Mellus released them, shooing the delinquent pair down the steps to the Abbey lawn. ‘Run along now. Searats would eat two Dibbuns like you for tea.’
‘Ha, bet they wouldn’t. We’d make ’em into searat pudden an’ eat ’em!’
‘No you wouldn’t, they’d have your tails on toast. Then what would I tell the Abbot?’
The two small otters shuffled off disgruntled. Flagg the big otter called along from the west wall to Mellus, ‘The only tails on toast those scurvy rats’ll have is their own tails marm. You leave it t’ me an’ young Saxtus.’
The badger gave a worried frown. ‘I hope you’re right, Flagg. They’re certain to be back. Searats like that lot don’t give in easily.’
Saxtus, who was on the east wall and within hearing range, called back at the same time as Flagg, ‘And neither do we!’
21
SNIDJER APPROACHED MARIEL, brandishing the sword. Weighted down by Flitchaye, she was unable to move. Helplessly she watched him raise the glittering blade. . . . From nowhere a huge voice rang out:
‘I was born on a dark night in a storm! I’m the roaring child of Heavywing McGurney! Shake in your fur, Flitchaye. Stonehead’s arrived!’
A barn owl of awesome proportions swooped down and hurled Snidjer high in the air. With a noise somewhere between a hoot and a roar, he launched himself into the fray. Mariel had never seen anything like it. The weed-clad, bark-masked Flitchaye scattered everywhere like ninepins.
Stonehead was aptly named. He used his massive head like a battering ram, thudding and butting with the speed of a striking snake as he shouted aloud at the terrified Flitchaye tribe:
‘Stand and fight, you forest weeds! Why, if I couldn’t slay a dozen of you before breakfast I’d die of shame! I can drink a river dry and eat an orchard bare! I’m Stonehead McGurney, bravest of the brave!’
Mariel and her companions got the feeling they would offend the big barn owl by joining in the fight, so they stood to one side, watching as he enjoyed himself to the full. The Flitchaye who were not laid out flat took to their holes and closed the lids. As Mariel retrieved her Gullwhacker and Dandin picked up the sword, Tarquin tuned his harolina and nudged Durry.
‘I don’t think I’d like to meet that chap when he’s cross, do you?’
Durry kicked Snidjer on the bottom as he tried to rise. ‘Dearie me, he do ’ave a right ol’ temper an’ no mistake.’
Six Flitchaye were backing off towards the woods. Stonehead spotted them and yelled, ‘Get back here! Down your pits and shut the lids! Run away and I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth! You know I never lie! We McGurneys aren’t the wisest owls anywhere, but by thunder we’re the bravest!’ He turned to the four travellers aggressively. ‘So you’re Redwall creatures, eh! Should never let yourselves get caught by this lot! Flitchaye! Hah! I’ll show you what they are! Come here, you!’
Snidjer came, but not quickly enough. Stonehead grabbed him in one powerful talon, he ripped away the barkdoth mask and trailing weeds.
‘There’s a Flitchaye for you! Skinny little weasels dressed up, that’s all they are! Here, do you want me to butt him right over the top of that hollow oak? I can do it easily, you know!’
Dandin interceded on Snidjer’s behalf. ‘I think he’s had enough, sir. Thank you for rescuing us. I am Dandin of Redwall – these are my friends, Tarquin, Mariel and Durry.’
The owl shook their paws with his talons until they ached, then he kicked open the lid of a Flitchaye hole and beckoned to Snidjer.
‘In there, you, and look sharp about it!’
Snidjer obeyed with alacrity. Stonehead took a huge dead treelimb in his claws and tossed it on top of the lid, locking Snidjer inside.
‘There, that’s the way to treat them! Don’t take any nonsense! You don’t think I was too easy on them, do you? Sure you don’t want me to throw a few over the treetops?’
‘No no, old chap. You did splendidly. Do you live alone in these woods?’
Stonehead blinked his eyes at Tarquin and snorted. ‘Alone? I’ll say not! We McGurneys have always lived here! Got the wife, Thunderbeak, and four little ones – two sons and two daughters! They’re only chicks, but you should see them fight! Come home with me for supper, meet my family!’
The savage golden eyes glared at them. They did not refuse.
If at all possible, Stonehead’s wife Thunderbeak was even fiercer than her belligerent husband. The four babies sat at the foot of a dead ash with them, fighting uproariously at every opportunity, much to the amusement of their parents. The food was surprisingly good. There was a white mushroom salad specially laid on for the travellers. The owls did not eat. Dandin decided that it would not be polite to ask them what their diet was, though the odd barkdoth and weeds in the bushes left him in little doubt.
After supper Dandin sang and played his harolina, an impromptu song.
‘If you’re ever caught by the Flitchaye
And the situation looks grave,
Then call for a McGurney,
The bravest of the brave.
He’ll fight all night
And battle all day
Until you hear those Flitchaye say,
“Have mercy, have mercy, have mercy on us all!”’
Mariel smiled fondly at the owlets. ‘Bless them, they’ve fallen asleep.’
Thunderbeak cuffed them roughly awake. ‘Where’s your manners! Dozing off when the nice rabbit’s singing you a song! Wake up this instant!’
Mariel wrapped her Gullwhacker into a pillow and lay down. ‘Oh, don’t scold them, please. They need their sleep, the same as me. Actually, if that nice rabbit starts singing another song he’ll feel the knot of my Gullwhacker between his big bunny ears.’
Tarquin sat up late, remembering the next lines of the poem and discussing their future route with Stonehead, though the owl did not appear to be a great 4eal of help. Tarquin racked his memory, whilst pretending to be attentive to Stonehead’s advice.
‘Let me see now, something or other about saving any fool at all, I think the last bit was. Oh, but that was you, wasn’t it?’
Stonehead blinked fiercely. ‘What’s that you say? I’m any fool at all! I think you could do with a lesson in politeness, rabbit! It’s true we McGurneys aren’t wise owls, but we’re the bravest of the brave! Now defend yourself, or get kicked right over that tree!’
Tarquin held up his paws placatingly. ‘Sorry, old chap, I wasn’t alluding to you, not a bit of it. The fools I was talking about is us, me and my jolly old friends. Point of fact, you may be able to help us with our route. I’ve remembered the lines, goes somethin’ like this:
Beware the light that shows the way,
Trust not the wart-skinned toad,
In his realm no night or day.
Fool, stay to the road.
That’s it. Y’see it mentions us again – fool! I don’t suppose you happen to know what place the rhyme means, wot?’
Stonehead got up and paced about a bit. One of the babies gave his leg a drowsy bite as he passed, and he cuffed the sleeping infant affectionately.
‘Wouldn’t like to be a Flitchaye when she grows up – wonderful little battler. Yes, of course I know the place your poem mentions! You and your friends want the swampdark! Never go th
ere myself – rotten place! Take you there in the morning. Get some sleep now, rabbit! You’re quite a good singer; never have time for such nonsense myself, sooner have a good clean fight! Must warn you, though, if you start warbling and wake my wife up she’ll probably rip your leg clean off! She’s not named Thunderbeak for nothing, you know! Sleep well. Good night!’
Tarquin put his harolina carefully aside and lay down, gazing around at the dark dripping forest and the six savage owls in slumber.
‘Blow me! I’d never take Hon Rosie picnickin’ to this place.’
‘What’s that, rabbit? Did you say something?’
‘Er, no, old bean. Just good night.’
‘Good night! Now shut up and sleep! Or else . . .!’
Gabool the Wild was not affected by sleep any more, he was driven night and day by an insane nervous energy, roaming the rooms of Fort Bladegirt. The non-arrival of Greypatch was preying upon his mind, though he did not doubt that his traitorous Captain would show up sooner or later. The King of Searats now began hoping that Greypatch would be brought back alive. He descended a winding stairway, muttering and chuckling to himself.
‘No, don’t kill him, that’s too quick for me old shipmate Greypatch. Gabool’s got somethin’ nice fer him, a surprise, aharrharrharr! Aye, Greypatch’ll remember old Skrabblag. I was Cap’n of the Ratwake an’ he was mate when we brought Skrabblag from the warm isles in the deep seas to the south. Haharr, good old Skrabblag. Let’s see if you’re still alive an’ foul-tempered.’
Still laughing to himself, the mad King reached the bottom of the steps. He entered a side room and took a spear from its wallhanger. At the centre of the room was a circular stone with a thick iron ring attached. Gabool thrust the spear through the ring and levered the stone upwards. Sliding it to one side, he took the spear and crouched over the hole in the floor.
Mariel Of Redwall Page 18
